


Hair of the Wolf

by elrhiarhodan



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Episode 1.4, Geralt POV, Geralt might be clueless, Geralt thinking about sex, Growly Geralt, Hair Kink, Jaskier is clueless, M/M, Missing Scene, Sassy Jaskier, UST, just a bit of unrealized longing, no sex yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:33:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23110258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: Missing scene at the start of Episode 1.4, "Of Banquets, Bastards and Burials".  After Geralt finishes bathing and agrees to accompany Jaskier to Cintra and Pavetta's betrothal, he needs to do something about his hair.Jaskier doesn't approve of Geralt's plans.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 193





	Hair of the Wolf

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anarchycox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anarchycox/gifts).



> Just a little bit of nonsense about something I noticed - Geralt's hair, when it's not soaked in monster stuff, is pretty evenly trimmed. It's also in pretty decent condition.
> 
> This is my first fic for The Witcher fandom, so be kind. You can take the gloves off if I write something else for this fandom.
> 
> This is also a gift to Anarchycox, who kind of dragged me in here. I'd been on the fence about the show, but her lovely first fic was enough to entice me into giving it a try. Monday night, I binge watched five episodes and didn't go to sleep until after 2AM. Thank you, Anarchy, from the bottom of my still very tired heart.
> 
> And the final also, my apologies for the extremely banal title. Next time (if there is one) I'll do better.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?" Jaskier stares at him like he’s about to kill a litter of new-born puppies.

"Cutting my hair." Geralt pulls at the ragged ends of his too-long hair and slices at them with a small, shape blade. "You told me I needed to look respectable." Clothing worthy of a silk trader, dull and _respectable_ , is laid out of the bed, "and it’s been - " Geralt shakes his head, trying to to remember something, "a long time since I’ve been to a barber."

Jaskier sniffs, "You actually go to a barber?"

"Why wouldn’t I?" Geralt has, on occasion, employed the services of a barber for something more than sewing up a wound. He just can’t remember the last time he’s done that.

"Hmm, didn’t think that such an indulgence would be something the White Wolf would … _indulge_ in." Jaskier is usually not so lacking in words.

Geralt grabs another hank of hair and this time Jaskier almost loses a finger as he tries to stop him. "Excuse me?"

"You really want to embarrass me, don’t you?" Geralt gives Jaskier his deadliest glare, but the boy just shakes his head. "That won’t work on me, Witcher. I’ve seen you buck naked and covered in purple monster vomit. I cannot be cowed."

"Well, even I cannot go to court with my hair half cut, so what do you suggest? Does this town have a barber?" He highly doubts it, this village is barely a pimple on Cintra’s buttocks. All he’s seen is an inn that serves passing travelers, a temple that serves half a dozen different gods, and a stable the serves horses.

"No need for a barber when you have me!" Jaskier digs around in his pack and comes up with a pair of scissors. "I will cut your hair. You can consider it part of my payment for your services."

Geralt growls.

"Or maybe not. Consider it a favor from me to you."

Geralt growls again.

"You’re going to be difficult about this, aren’t you."

Geralt relents, just a bit. Most of his objection is for form, anyway. "Do a good job and I’ll tell you about my encounter with a basilisk in Vizima."

Jaskier’s eyes go wide and his lips move. Geralt is familiar enough with the boy’s composing process to know that he’s working on rhymes for basilisk. "My hair and then the story."

"Yes, of course." Jaskier returns to his pack and gets a comb before telling Geralt to sit on a small footstool. 

What should be a task of a few moments turns into a major production because it’s Jaskier and everything with Jaskier turns into a major production. "By the mother of all the hungry gods, what is _wrong_ with you?"

Geralt rolls his eyes at Jaskier’s over-dramatizing. "What now?"

"Your hair, it’s like some kind of straw. Mutant straw."

"Well, that would be fitting, since I am a mutant." The insult has long lost its ability to hurt. Except that Jaskier has never used it before and for some reason, it does hurt. 

Jaskier actually slaps the back of his head. "You know what I mean. What do you do, wash this in Roach’s piss?"

Geralt doesn’t dignify that with an answer.

"No, of course not. You probably just use a scrap of lye soap that’s been in the bottom of your saddle bags since before Queen Calanthe was born. This is unacceptable, Witcher. Thanks to me and my songs, you have a brand to protect. How can you be the White Wolf if all of your hair falls out? That would be a crime against humanity. And elf-kind. And maybe monster-kind, too."

Geralt doesn’t know why he’s agreed to this, but it’s always been so hard to say 'no' to Jaskier. It’s a good thing the boy really doesn’t ask for all that much. Just a story, and Geralt’s protection. And a bedroll on occasion, when he’s been foolish enough to get himself run out of town without collecting his things.

Geralt sighs. _The price of friendship_.

For the third time, Jaskier dives into his pack and comes up with a small lidded pot and a leather flask. "You see my hair? You see how perfect it is?" Jaskier bends down, low enough that his face is practically in Geralt’s lap. "Touch it."

When he makes no move to do so, Jaskier picks up Geralt’s hand and puts it on his head. "Feel it. Nice and soft, right?"

Geralt moves his fingers just a bit and he does have to admit that Jaskier’s hair is rather soft. Kind of like a fox pelt. It’s nice. Very nice. "Hmmm."

"Stroke it."

Geralt can’t really explain why he’s being so obedient, but he follows Jaskier’s instructions and then some, carding his fingers through that warm and so-soft pelt of hair. It’s not really like a woman’s locks, which are long and tends to get tangled in his fingers - on the myriad calluses and rough cuticles that decorate his hands. He’s inadvertently hurt enough girls so many times during fucking that he’s pretty much learned to restrict his touching to unhairy bits. Nipples are usually good, and if the girl’s shaved her quim, fingering a pussy is good, too. Asses are always good…

He’s stroking Jaskier’s hair and thinking about women he’s had sex with, and that sets up a rather strange reaction. Geralt clenches his fist.

"What the fuck, ow, ow, ow." Jaskier bolts up and rubs the back of his head. "What was that for?"

"Sorry." Geralt shifts on the footstool, uncomfortable in ways he can’t really pinpoint.

"If I didn’t need your services, I’d leave you here." Jaskier steps around him again. "I can’t undo years of damage, but I can make this horror show a bit more presentable.

As Jaskier rubs something from the jar into his hair, muttering about ungrateful witchers and lye soap, Geralt rubs his fingers together. He isn’t erasing the feel of Jaskier’s hair against his hands, he’s memorizing it against uncertain days ahead.

__

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr, I'm Elrhiarhodan there too.


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